Woman in the Black Dress
by Midnight's Prophet
Summary: Scar is the best of the best in an underground fight club. But with the arrival of a woman coming to the club for drinks he becomes seduced. And what demons lie in her mind, her past, and most importantly, her present? ScarLust
1. Eye Contact

This is my attempt at a Full Metal Alchemist story. I decided to make the main pairing Scar/Lust since there are so few of those storys at the site. Sure, they only had a quick exchange and it was only in the anime but I still think that it was really cool, so to honor them, I've begun Woman in the Black Dress...again. I hope I can really move foward on it this time. The reviews help, so please R&R if you want me motivated! And of course enjoy!

Woman in the Black Dress

Chapter 1: Eye Contact

* * *

There she was again. Her dark hair always wisped like that in the wind. When she walked through the door, to the club, the entire atmosphere would change. If something was bright than it would get brighter. If something was dark then it would get darker. Everything that you saw moved to the extreme. 

At least it always felt that way to him. And yet somehow, whenever he was around her, his whole body started to hurt. He hurt in a way that he truly could never describe.

When she moved it was so graceful that it was like she floated. Taking a seat at the bar she crossed her legs and ordered a dry martini. The bartender gave her a nod and fixed the drink. He handed it to her and then moved down the bar to where he was sitting.

"Scar!" he said only now noticing him. "I didn't see you come in."

Scar gave him an unenthusiastic nod. Hughes was a pretty likable guy but he often came on a bit too strong. The man was always raving about something. Most of the time it was his seventeen year old daughter. Sure she was hot but Scar was more interested in the woman that sat before him, then he was in a girl who just had a crush.

"What'll it be?" Hughes asked.

"A beer," he answered curtly.

"No shots tonight, eh? Let's keep it that way," He took a Heineken out from under the counter. "I've got my money on you for the fight so I don't want you stumbling around."

Scar took a sip from the bottle. "I've fought drunk before and won."

Hughes laughed. "Yeah I can't argue with that."

Scar didn't even here his comment. He was completely focused on the black haired woman. Her face was heart shaped and pale. The beauty in her was so evident but at the same time it seemed like she couldn't be trusted. Her lips were darkened by purple lipstick. Scar momentarily wondered how they would taste against his. Her face was half shrouded in mystery, hidden by her silky hair. She was wearing a long black dress, the skirt of which was slit up to her thigh, allowing just a taste of her rare and forbidden beauty.

She took a cigarette to those perfect lips of hers. About half the men at the bar stuffed their hands in their pockets reaching for a light.

She simply rolled her eyes at them. Obviously she got that all the time. She stuck out the cigarette and the four flames simultaneously met the end of it. She took a moment to allow one of them a quick wink.

The receiver smiled thinking he had a shot, but it was clear that she was just playing with him. Clear to Scar anyway. He raised his beer to take a gulp from it. When he lowered it, a pair of deep dark eyes met his. He nearly gasped, her eye contact nearly knocking him off of his stool at the same time.

Of course no one had noticed. It had been the very slightest of movements. Just a small slip but it troubled Scar nonetheless. This woman was NOT to be trusted, and yet he found himself staring back into her pools of black.

She gave him a smile. It felt like knives stabbing into his chest, but it was accompanied by a soothing rush of pleasure, into the same spot. It took all his might to keep from returning it. I was odd. He never smiled.

"Scar,"

He broke the contact and met the face of Armstrong, the bouncer of the club and one of the toughest fighters. Scar had been able to take him before but he had left with more than minor injuries. "What," he dryly replied.

"You're up. Get in the cage."

Scar got to his feet and took one more gulp of his beer before heading to the large steel cell in the center of the club. He made sure to avoid the woman's gaze. No more thinking about girls. It was time to get his game face on.

He made his way past the many tables seated by the many groups that the darker parts of Central City were a home to. There were gang members, bums, and stupid kids trying to make a name for themselves. They had no idea what they were getting into. Some would even be dead before the night was over. But that was none of his concern.

Scar removed his jacket, and then his shirt, leaving only a black wife beater and his jeans on. He topped the pile of clothes with his sunglasses. He got inside of the cage and cracked his knuckles waiting for the poor fool that had demanded the best fighter possible.

Scar held _some_ sympathy for him, but just because you grow up strong doesn't mean you can take on anybody. That was a way too common misconception.

The kid got in the ring and rose up his hands in triumph. He was built like a bull. His boyish face showed that he was somewhere in his mid twenties but his body said differently. How he had built on so much muscle at such a young age was only explained by one source. Steroids.

Scar scoffed at this. It would easily be a case of too much confidence in the product.

The kid approached him. "Come on! I'll ring your filthy neck."

Scar stared at him. He'd be making a lot of money tonight. Some people would have faith in this rookie. Way too much faith.

The kid lunged at him, letting out a battle cry. Scar saw his opening immediately. The mass of muscles' arms were straight out determined to keep the promise to strangle him.

Scar caught his left one and twisted it behind him. He howled in pain, but that was just the appetizer. Scar straightened out the arm and forced his palm down on the back of the elbow, snapping his arm in two.

His victim squealed like a pig, blood seeping from his wound. He fell to his knees, and Scar casually walked around to his front for the final blow. He finished him off with a right hook to the jaw. Scar heard one more satisfying crack as the poor little fool fell unconscious and landed on the floor of the ring.

Ignoring the mixture boos from the losers and cheers from the ever so richer, he stepped out of the cage, grabbed his clothes and headed back towards the bar.

He was met by a hearty laugh from Hughes. Scar cringed at the sound of it. "I knew you'd kick some ass! I feel damn sorry for the kid but what was he even thinking getting in the ring with Scar?"

The dark skinned man picked up the beer that he had left and took another swig. "Hughes," he said once again eying the woman from before. "Who's the girl in the black dress?"

Hughes glanced over and immediately grinned. "Lookin' to score tonight, eh?"

Scar sighed at Hughes stupidity. "Just answer the question."

"Heh! Alright, alright. To tell you the truth I don't know much about her. She shows up every now and then for a martini. Sometimes she puts up a bet but that's about it."

Scar watched her blow off another of the hopefuls that approached her. It was odd the way she did it. It wasn't like she told them to just piss off. She would use her charm to make them feel like they were doing good. Use her seductive comments to bring them all the way up to the top of the ledge where her sparkling womanhood lied waiting. And then she would say something quick and subtle and ever so slightly change her facial expression.

It was like there hand was reaching up to that snowy ledge and she would take blow dryer to melt the ice, not violently but with all the precision needed to make him slip back down.

"What's her name," he asked.

"Don't know. You gonna go find out?"

Scar let out a rare chuckle and stood up, he began to walk towards the stool were she so elegantly sat, but was stopped by someone's arm. Scar glanced up at the blonde man who was keeping him from moving.

"Hold on big guy."

"What do you want Havoc," Scar said, his anger rising. He didn't like people touching him unless they were women.

"Hey relax!" Havoc said. "I'm just giving you you're prize money. The boss says you did a good job. He wants you to have this complementary two hundred more."

Scar snatched the money and counted it. He pulled out the extra and let it fall to the floor. "Tell Mustang I don't want his charity." He bumped past him without a second glance.

"Hey let's not resort to insults! The boss is just trying to keep you in his best interest!" Havoc called after him.

Scar responded with the finger. Mustang was always pulling this kind of thing, but Scar wasn't doing any dirty jobs for him. He earned enough from his fights, which were already illegal enough. He wasn't getting mixed up with Mustang's crew.

Suddenly Scar's train of thought changed back and he stopped dead. The seat that the majestic beauty had occupied was now vacant. He cursed to himself and searched the bar but she was no where to be found. She had slipped out just like that. He slammed a fist down onto the bar.

Who in the hell was she? Scar made certain that he would find out.

* * *

Well, there you have it. Please review the story and I'll probably continue it. 


	2. Twice a Year

Author's Note: CHAPTER 2! YOU READ, YES?! YOU REVIEW, YES?! GOOD! ON WITH DE SHOW!

Woman in the Black Dress

Chapter 2

* * *

The sidewalk was not very forgiving today. The winter months in Central City were far from relaxing. They just meant ice everywhere, and no one around to chip it away in the worst parts of the city.

But Scar, lived in the worst of the worst. The Ishbahlan District was broken down and slowly but surely dying, a very painful death. His people had been reduced to alcoholics and criminals at this point. Scar knew very well that he classified in the latter of the two but, he was far from the problem with this society.

In fact, Scar was the biggest loner you could ever meet. He lived alone, he had no friends. There was not a day when you would see Scar hanging out at the movies with the gang, and he was perfectly fine with that. To him solitude was not synonymous with loneliness; it was synonymous with bliss.

His steps were quick and light on the frozen concrete. He had long since found a way to quickly maneuver over the solid waters of his district. As a child he had to. After all, thugs didn't stop chasing you when the seasons changed. You had to be quick on your feet constantly. But at the moment that wasn't where his thoughts lay.

Scar stared ahead of him at the jumble of tombstones, beyond the large fence in front of him. His steps began to slow, but he forced himself to pick up speed.

Twice a year; once in December and once in July every year. No exceptions.

Scar made it through the iron bars, and the quiet of the place made him more comfortable. The snow drifted lightly on the stones, somehow amplifying the silence, if that made any sense. He moved, down the blanketed path, his feet dragging through the white sheet.

It was January right now, meaning he was late this time around. He knew that there would be no peace in his mind until he finally came to visit, and so here he was forcing himself into this situation so that he didn't feel selfish.

Scar stopped moving and looked down at the mangy tombstone in front of him. He hadn't been able to afford an expensive one. He was guilty over that too, but that had been out of his control. Scar stared heavily at the slab of rock. Looking down, he would see nothing but snow but he knew what was six feet below it. His stomach began to knot up and Scar and took a small step backwards.

"So…how've you been?" Scar sighed and dropped his head. He tried this every time. But to this day he just couldn't see the logic in talking to a dead person. His spirit was long gone at this point, if it had ever even existed in the first place. Scar had been a devout Ishbahlan for a large portion of his life, but over the last few years, his religion had begun to feel tedious and pathetic. It didn't feel genuine any more. Maybe it was because he was so uninterested in the concept of death, that he just saw it as it was physically: a dead brain and a decomposing body. The entire idealism of a spirit no longer registered in his mind.

Scar felt his pocket vibrate. He reached in and flipped out his cell phone. Someone had sent him a text: _u got a challenger. 1:30 P.M. b there_.

It looked like he was fighting again tonight. It had been a while since his last one. As a matter of fact, it had been long enough so that he was actually thinking of going down there to see if anybody was willing to get pounded into a bloody pulp. Most of the time, they lined up for him. There was so much traffic in and out of Central, that most people who showed up didn't know who he was. If they all knew, then he would definitely need to consider another career choice, because once you knew what he could do, you _never_ challenged Scar.

The last time had been quite awhile ago, somewhere around 3 weeks. Who was the one he had faced then? Scar searched his memories for the answer and it finally came to him. That dumb ass of a kid who had come hopped up on 'roids. And remembrance of that night of course, led to remembrance of that woman.

Scar cursed to himself. A couple of days ago he had FINALLY gotten her out of his head, and now here she was again. Why did she intrigue him so much? Scar tried to shake her from his mind and only partially succeeded. She was still there in the back of his brain whispering to him, like a siren.

"Fuck," Scar spat. His head bowed down to the stone again. He read the name over a few times. After all of this he could still barely believe that he was seeing it above a grave. Scar swept the snow off of the top and took a step back. He uttered a soft goodbye before he left.

"See you in July, brother."

Scar stepped away and headed home to wrap his hands up. He needed cash and he was getting it tonight.

* * *

She left her chauffer a few blocks away from the train station. There was no doubt that he would stay quiet about her endeavors. That man was one of the few reliable people left in this world.

The woman rode the train down into the same district that she always went. She didn't usually return after only three weeks, but she was certainly willing to make an exception this time. That son of bitch wasn't going to keep her locked inside following his rules all of the time. Really, it wasn't even for a drink that she was going out. She just felt like disobeying him.

She took a long hard drag off of her cigarette when she got off of the train. It was nice to be in a place where she could just relax. No one would judge her here, but they would sure as hell drool over her.

She was in the Gorge, one of the worst areas in all of central. But of course it wasn't he lowest of the low. That was the Ishbahlan District. But the Gorge was definitely no Beverly Hills either. It was name that, because building plans for the area had gone wrong and the entire land area was actually about 6 feet deeper into the ground, than the rest of Central. It made plenty of sense.

The Ishbahlan District may have been poor, but there were quite a few good people there, or so she's heard. The Gorge included the lowest of the low, both literally and figuratively.

It was her kind of area.

She raven haired beauty stepped onto to platform, and then down the steel staircase. She took one step and could feel the grimy area on her skin. It was so dirty, so forbidden. She loved it.

The bar was only a few blocks away from here. She began towards it, with her black dress flapping along in the wind. Her high heeled shoes made an alien click as she walked. No one was dressed like this around here. But this woman hadn't gotten where she was by conforming to her surroundings. In fact, when she stuck out it usually gave her the best results.

But the again, conforming was what had led her to be stuck with that sick bastard, Bradley. She had wanted riches, and fame at first. That was what everyone wanted, right? Apparently, not her. She knew what she wanted now though. Or at least she hoped she did.

There were men on just about every corner, probably waiting to begin some dastardly deeds. The eyed her, as if they were in a trance. And they were. Her beauty was unrivaled, after all. And she loved beyond anything to make them want her. But still, she didn't want them. There were only a lucky few who would end up in the sack with this woman.

Maybe she would find one of them tonight. She wasn't looking for love, and she wasn't looking for marriage. Just a good time right now, but not from just anybody.

She looked up and found that she had arrived. The woman rapped gracefully on the door. The heard the large slot slide open at the top. The eyes looking down at her, no doubt, belonged to that giant of a bouncer.

He had seen her enough times to know that she wasn't a cop. He pulled open the steel door and allowed her in. She stepped in and took a deep breathe. Cigarette smoke, and male hormones flooded her lungs and she exhaled in a satisfied and subtle moan.

She was home.

* * *

Not bad, eh? I won't be able to put up the next chapter till next week so don't abandon the story and stuff! And please review. 


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